Cut-up poem

 

Pluck a nowhere as of a lace
handkerchief before the cut, go
on and spread it out, fill it with
meadow sun, blasts of pollen, sneezes.

Go read it in the leaves of ash,
the LED we knelt beside as
a piece attending fluid distance,
frequencies of tenderness, seasons.

It’s all one twilight notion
moving mountains with elation
to serious routes, for in driving
we surprise the definitions

we all must redefine.

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